Home Sweet Home (A Southern Comfort Novel) (16 page)

G
race was carrying a mug of tea up to her office when someone knocked on the door. Startled, she spilled some hot tea on her hand. Then the hotness made her hand jerk, and she sloshed half the cup on her foot.

“Dammit!” She set the tea on the flat end of the banister. Mr. Bingley beat her to the door. He was meowing and pawing like he couldn’t wait for her to get it open.

“Hey,” said Jake when she pulled the door open. Before she could say anything, he smiled at her. Then he leaned down to pick up Mr. Bingley, who was practically crawling up his pants. “Hey, Mr. Bingley. Did you miss me?” He snuffled his face into Mr. Bingley’s neck. Grace could practically feel the vibrations of his purring through the door. The cat’s, too.

“Hi, Jake, come on in. Bring my cat with you.” Grace closed the door behind Jake. “Who are all those kids?”

Jake shrugged. “I’m the local hero now. I have a big truck.”

“I see.”

“Technically, it’s a crane, but it’s big and yellow and loud, so I’m a hero.”

“I heard about you and your crane. You’re setting the hearts of Willow Springs’s women all a-flutter.”

“Is that right?” Jake let Mr. Bingley down on the floor and stepped into Grace’s space. “And you? Am I setting your heart a-flutter?”

“My heart doesn’t flutter.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, then just lingered there, breathing her in. She shouldn’t lean in. She shouldn’t give in to the impulse to run her fingers through his hair and wrap her legs around his waist.

“So,” he said, straightening abruptly and smacking Grace on the butt. He was in a good mood. Playful, even. Must be all that heavy machinery. She grabbed her tea and followed him into the living room, where he was already spread on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. “Where are your roommates?”

Grace tucked her hair behind her ear and sat on the arm of the couch. “Helen took Mrs. Wallace to the movies. I’m supposed to be getting work done.”

“Oh. Do you need me to go?”

Grace didn’t say anything, just shrugged in the general direction of her tea. She did need him to go. The house was quiet for the first time in a week and she had some tweaking to do on her presentation. But she could tweak later. Or tomorrow.

“Hmm. So they left you all alone?”

She shrugged again. Gosh, she really had a way with words tonight.

“Where’s the dog?”

“Mrs. Wallace insisted on sneaking Lucy into the theater. And they’ve been gone for a while, so I guess it worked.”

“Lucy likes the movies, huh?”

“She just goes for the popcorn. Besides, the previews are the best part.”

“So . . .” Jake took the mug out of Grace’s hand. He sniffed it, and raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? Spinsters can’t drink tea?”

But he just shook his head and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re no spinster.” He kissed her nose. “Too cute to be a spinster.”

“Cute, huh?”

Jake wrapped his hand around the back of Grace’s neck and pulled her closer. “Very cute,” he said against her mouth.

God, I missed him, she thought as their lips met, and danced. She was not so stubborn that she couldn’t admit that she liked the strong feel of him, the way his muscles were so hard but his lips were soft, even when they weren’t being gentle. Like now, when he was kissing her as if his life depended on it.

He pulled back, gasping, and she blinked at him for a few seconds before she registered that he was not going to kiss her again. He was apparently just going to stare at her.

“When are your roommates coming back?” he asked her.

She shrugged. She didn’t even remember what time Helen had told her the movie was.

“But they are coming back?”

She nodded. She wanted to say, yes, they’re coming back, so quit wasting time, but she distracted herself by tracing Jake’s lower lip with her fingertip. His lips were thin. She wondered if they felt swollen like hers did.

He bit her finger. She flinched. “Hey!”

“Do you want to go to my place?”

Grace had never been to Jake’s apartment. She knew he lived above Mary Beth’s garage, which sounded very quarter-life crisis to her. It didn’t really suit him, although she supposed if he just worked sporadically, he would have to live frugally.

Then he kissed her quickly and sat back and she got distracted by those lips again. Really, the lips were nothing to write home about, but they were pretty talented. His whole face was talented. Heck, his whole Jake was talented.

“Grace?”

“Yes! Yes. Let’s go.”

Jake was nervous. He never got nervous, not about women at least. But he was nervous about what Grace would say about his apartment. It wasn’t him; it was just a temporary, cheap place to live. Would she be more impressed that he usually slept in a sleeping bag in whichever house he was flipping?

He opened the truck door for Grace and smiled at her. Well, so what if it was silly. He wanted to open the door for her. He took her hand to help her out of the truck, as if she were wearing a ball gown and heels, not yoga pants and sneakers. As they walked up the driveway, he kept hold of her hand. Just in case she decided to bolt.

He could see Mary Beth puttering in the kitchen as they walked past. He usually honked or stuck his head in the door to let them know that he was home, and to see if there were any leftovers. But tonight, he just rapped gently on the window. Mary Beth jumped a foot, saw it was Jake, and threw the dish sponge at the window. She mouthed a word she probably didn’t mean—probably—but stopped when she saw Grace. When she saw Grace, Mary Beth gave her a sheepish wave, and Grace sheepishly waved back at her. Jake thought the polite embarrassed wordless conversation could take all night, and he had other plans for all night, so he pulled Grace away from the house and up the stairs to his apartment.

Grace started looking around the second he let her in the door. It was a mess; he had kind of hit the ground running as soon as he got back from Florida. Not that he was a great housekeeper, and not that Grace was in any position to judge dirty clothes thrown all over the floor, but he didn’t want her to see what a slob he could be. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want Grace thinking anything bad about him.

Not that it mattered.

It did matter. That was the problem. But it was a problem quickly solved by pulling his sweatshirt over his head. Grace always seemed easily distracted by his body. It was a burden he was prepared to deal with.

She fell for it, and he was glad for many reasons when she walked straight into his arms.

“You in a hurry?” she asked.

“A hurry to get started.”

She hummed a little at him, then stepped back and ripped her own sweatshirt over her head. Purple. She was wearing a purple bra that was lace all over and he could see right through it.

He growled.

“Did you just growl at me?” she said, laughing.

“Don’t tease me, woman.”

“Don’t what?” she asked, running a finger down the center of his chest.

“I’ve been driving a damn crane all day and I’m tired.”

“Too tired to—”

“Hell, no. But you should take pity on me.”

“Because you’ve been working hard.” She kissed his pectoral. “Helping out your neighbors.” She kissed the other one.

“Yeah,” he said, or he thought he said. His breath seemed to have run out on him.

“Poor man.” She hooked her finger into the waistband of his jeans and led him over to the bed. His bed, dammit. He should be taking the lead. But she shoved him down and he sat, hard, and just stared up at her.

“Poor, tired Jake,” she said, and shimmied out of her yoga pants. Good Lord, the panties matched. She pushed him back and he lifted his hips as she eased his jeans down to the floor. She ran her hands up his legs, then slid them over his hips to pull his boxers down. “Not too tired,” she murmured as she tossed them over her shoulder. They went wide and landed in the bell of the floor lamp by the door. Jake watched, dazed, as the lamp wobbled then crashed across the doorway.

Grace turned to the lamp, then back to Jake. “Sorry,” she said, and started to climb off him.

“Nope,” he grunted, and grabbed her waist, crashing her into him and knocking them both back onto the bed. Even in the newly dim apartment, he could see her smile. “I could fall asleep at any time.” He tilted his chin up and she kissed him. “I don’t want to rob you of the opportunity to shower me with pity and praise.”

“Hmm,” she said, and traced a gentle finger across his brow. “Brave, selfless Jake.” Her lips followed, forging a soft, wet trail down his cheek, across his neck. “Hero to the community.” She gently nipped at the pulse in his neck, then shushed his gasp with a kiss. “He just gives and gives.”

Grace’s voice was getting softer and breathier, and as her lips touched every inch of his skin Jake lost track of what she was saying. He was great. He was a giver. He didn’t care, though, not while her lips and tongue swirled down his torso, across his stomach, then lower, and he couldn’t hear a thing because he was too busy feeling Grace and her magnificent, talented mouth.

He was close to losing control and although Grace hummed in pleasure, he didn’t want her to have her way in this. He wanted to be closer to her, inside of her. He pulled her up and she scrambled onto his chest, tossed off-balance and then again when he shoved her panties down her legs. She was laughing, catching her breath and settling her knees on either side of his hips. She produced a foil packet—sweet, magic Grace—and tore it open with her teeth and then she was rolling it on him and rolling herself over him and all he could do was hold on. He watched her writhe and sway over him, watched his hands roam over her pale skin and the rough lace of her bra, and when he shifted, he watched her face go from smug to surprised, so he did it again, then again, and she tossed her head back and shouted, and so did he, and when she collapsed, breathless, on his chest, his arms flopped out to his sides and he lay there, covered in Grace, while their hearts slowed.

He wanted to say something about how
she
was a giver, or maybe a joke about driving his crane, but he was tired and she was soft. She shifted and placed a kiss on his chest, then his neck, and his arms came up and smoothed a gentle line down her back.

J
ake was spooning Grace, hard. She’d been awake for a while, trying to figure out how to get up without waking him. He’d been tired. Oh, he perked right up when she climbed on top of him, but no sooner had they shouted each other’s names and collapsed in a tangle than he was asleep. Sometime in the night they’d shifted, and now her back was squished against his front, his arm in a tight band around her waist.

She wanted to lie there with him, have a lazy morning, but her brain wouldn’t let her. She should have brought some work with her. Grading a few papers would probably put her right back to sleep. But she hadn’t. They left her house in such a hurry—neither of them wanted to risk Helen and Mrs. Wallace coming home early from the movie—that she only grabbed her keys and phone. Besides, it wasn’t very romantic to say, hey, I haven’t seen you in a week and you’re crazy to get into my pants, but let me grab a little homework first.

She’d dreaded seeing him again after her hallway breakdown, and had never told anyone about her parents, certainly not any romantic partners. That was a deep, secret part of her no one needed to see. He’d just happened upon her in a moment of weakness, and once she started talking, she wasn’t able to stop. She was afraid that the next time she saw him, he’d be full of pity and treat her with kid gloves. She didn’t want that. She wanted him to treat her like Jake always did.

And, oh, he had treated her like Jake.

He shifted in his sleep and his hold on her loosened. She took the opportunity to scoot out of bed and into the bathroom. His bathrobe was hanging on the door, so she slipped it on and went to retrieve her phone from where she’d dropped it last night. Six text messages, all from Helen. They went from amusement (“Operation Sneak Dog Into Theater: Success!”) to concern (“We’re home—where are you?”) to all-out worry (“Srsly were you abducted??”) to relief (“Talked to MB—have fun getting abducted by Jake!”). And then just a series of emoticons. Grace probably should have left a note, but the Willow Springs grapevine seemed to have taken care of it for her.

She pulled the curtain aside—it was barely light out. No wonder Jake was asleep, it was so early. That, and the giant yellow crane sitting in the driveway. She looked over at him and felt her heart go all warm and gooey. He was a good guy. A good friend, and a good guy. And muscles.

She put her phone down on the desk, preparing to dive back into bed with those muscles, when she noticed it wasn’t a desk at all. It looked like a drafting table, one of those big white ones that slanted slightly downward. There was a light attached to the top and she flicked it on, glancing quickly at the bed to make sure Jake was still dead to the world, then took a look at what was on the desk. She wasn’t snooping, she told herself. Just . . . okay, she was snooping. But she was curious. Jake rarely talked about himself, unless the topic was directly related to the person he was talking to. Like mentioning how he’d tried to read
Pride and Prejudice
for English class. He was so charming and focused on her that the fact that he had whole other facets surprised her. It shouldn’t have, and it wasn’t fair that she’d assumed the part of Jake she saw was all he was. So she’d rectify that by snooping.

These looked like architectural drawings, mostly for interiors, but a few outside drawings as well. The lines delineating rooms were marked with tiny, precise measurements, but the notes around the room were messier, as if the person writing them was just jotting ideas down. There were notes all around the margins as well, with words like “warm, light, neutral” and “modern, clean.” And “yuppie.”

That was how she knew they were Jake’s notes.

“What are you doing over there?” the yuppie-hater mumbled from his bed. “Come back to bed.”

She did, but she brought the drawings with her.

“What is this, Jake?” She was excited, and didn’t know why.

He opened his eyes, just a sliver, then rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow. “I can’t see. It’s not even daylight.”

Grace could wait. She scooted down so she was lying next to him, but she kept looking at the drawings. She thought they were all for one house, but there was a veranda on one drawing that didn’t make any sense on one of the others.

“Grace.”

He was muttering into the pillows.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

“I can’t sleep if you’re sitting there looking at my stuff!”

“Well, tell me what they are.” She put the drawings aside and leaned in to kiss his shoulder.

He turned to look at her then. His face was bleary and pillow-marked, and his hair was sticking out and he was sort of scowling at her, but he looked so cute she knew he couldn’t possibly mean it.

“They’re my work.”

“Are these the plans for your jobs?”

Jake paused and looked at her. “What exactly do you think I do for a living?”

“You’re in construction,” she answered.

He flipped onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s a little more than that.”

She propped her head up with her hand, facing him. And then, because she couldn’t help it, she ran her fingers up and down the line of hair on his chest.

“I flip houses.”

Grace stopped her trail in the center of his chest. That was not what she was expecting. “Like on those TV shows?” She loved those shows. When house hunting, she was particularly addicted to them.

“Yeah. I mean, the shows are not entirely realistic, but yeah.”

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t believe everything I see on television?”

“Not with the crap you watch.”

She jabbed him in the chest and he retaliated by grabbing her arm and flipping her so she was underneath him. She leaned up and kissed his chin.

“So, what, you buy old houses and fix them up?” she asked.

“Basically.”

“Around here?”

“Some. Willow Springs has a lot of great architecture, and a lot of it has been neglected. And you fancy college people just love a fixed-up old house.”

She wanted to
hmph
in disgust, but he was right. She did love old houses.

“Sometimes I go to other parts of the state. Sometimes Ohio, although I’m not licensed there, so I have to hire a local contractor.”

“And that’s what you were doing in Florida?”

He nodded.

Her chest felt lighter, but she ignored it. Besides, Jake was still lying on top of her. She didn’t feel that much lighter.

“Is that why you came to meet me when I moved in? To see if I would hire you to fix up my place?”

“No, I was there because my bossy older sister made me be there.”

“Ah.”

He rolled off her, but pulled her close to his side. “It’s good money, and I can work more or less when I want to. As you can see, I live pretty simply.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. But he must have felt it, because he continued.

“So I buy two or three houses a year, fix them up, and put the money in the bank for the next house.”

“And stay in your sister’s garage until that comes up?”

He shrugged, and her head jostled along with it. He moved a hand up to her neck.

“I’ll buy a house for myself one day. When I find the right one.”

Grace wondered what the right house for him would be. He was such a guy, but now that she saw his apartment, she realized that it didn’t suit him at all. The apartment was bland and bare, despite the mess. She tried to picture him in a modern house, all clean lines and bachelor-simple. That didn’t fit either. He would probably be happy in a house like hers, one that had a lot of charm but needed some TLC to bring it out.

“So you had absolutely no designs on my house?”

“None,” he assured her.

“My house isn’t good enough for you?”

He laughed, and she felt it down to her toes. “No, it’s too good. That house isn’t in bad enough shape to gut and flip.”

“But if you had to. If, say, Mary Beth made you, what would you do to my house?”

“If I was flipping it to sell? I’d probably gut the kitchen.”

Grace gasped. “I love that kitchen!”

“Yes, but you’re not normal. Most buyers want an updated kitchen. Something at least from this century.”

“Hmph. Fine. What else?”

“I might take out that swinging door to the kitchen. Maybe knock that whole wall down and open up the space. And I’d try to find room for another bathroom downstairs.”

“What about the turret?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Ugh, that turret is a nightmare. I’d probably just put some throw pillows in there and let the buyer deal with it.”

Grace shook her head. “I tried that. It doesn’t work. Do you think my house needs all that other stuff?”

“No. Maybe the kitchen wall. I hate that swinging door.”

Grace started to protest that she loved it, that it enabled her to make a grand entrance. But the truth was, the door was a pain in the butt. Often, literally.

Jake stretched underneath her. “What time is it?”

She shrugged. “Early. What are you doing today?”

“Just driving my crane around.”

“Manly.”

“You want to come watch?”

She did. She bet Jake wielding heavy machinery was even sexier than Jake with hand tools. “I can’t. Papers to grade. Ugh, and I have to go to a planning meeting.” Mrs. Wallace, it turned out, was a force to be reckoned with when she had a mission. The library board loved their Jane Austen fundraiser idea. Now all they had to do was make it happen.

Jake turned so he was facing her. “Is it an early meeting?”

She shook her head. “This afternoon at the Daily Drip.”

“Plenty of time.” He slid his hands to her waist. “Why are you wearing my robe?”

She tried to think of something pithy about protecting her modesty, but she was too slow. Jake captured her puzzled mouth with his and she forgot all about grading and planning and Jane Austen.